


Moonlit Fields

by VonDew



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Awkwardness, Drarry, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter AU, M/M, implied anorexia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VonDew/pseuds/VonDew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry lives and works at Dursley Farm and every day has been practically the same for a long time. One day a boy from the city comes to stay at the farm for two weeks. Harry thinks this might be a great chance to make his first friend, a boy named Draco Malfoy, but perhaps they could be more than that...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dursley Farm

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer; Harry Potter is not mine, if it was, Drarry would be canon. The pictures I use in this fic is picutures I have taken myself, even if I do not own the photographed property. 
> 
> Also I want to thank my amazing beta MissSnakeyBoots, who is an amazing friend in addition to being a great beta x

 

Harry James Potter stepped in manure.

He looked down at his blue, had-just-been-shining-new boots with dislike. _Just my luck_ , he thought, a tad annoyed as he tucked the end of his too big, dust-grey and itchy cardigan into his hand-me-down jeans and tried to clean his boot against the barley straws, looking around to be sure that no one saw him. They were going to be harvested and sold later that year, so he better not get caught.

“Look presentable.” he mumbled to himself; his uncle’s words.

Harry gaze wandered over to said man. He remembered that he had been told strictly to hurry up, even if that was easier said than done when he had also been assigned the pleasures of cleaning out the whole Main House, feeding the animals and cleaning up their poop.

 _Well_ , Harry thought bitterly, _now it’s on my boot instead._

Vernon Dursley was not a bad man, in the big perspective. He had a loving wife and son, and read the newspaper with his coffee every morning. He always knew what would happen in the stock market, even the times he didn’t have money involved himself. What Mr. Dursley was most famous for, was the bread that came from his farm. His family sold barley and wheat crops to the nearest town, a few kilometres away, along with milk and other products that came from the animals on Dursley Farm.

Said man was now stood in front of the newly painted, egg-white door of the Main House of their farm, where the family stayed. The farm was painted and repaired occasionally - on most occasions by Harry.

Vernon just huffed when Harry walked over to him, too busy to acknowledge him. It was an important day and Vernon wore his best pinstriped suit. Petunia kept checking her husband’s mustache for breadcrumbs and straightening her own too-short, bright red dress.

Harry had to admit it was a beautiful dress that fitted her well.

That is, if she was twenty or thirty years younger.

It had been Petunia’s idea, to rent out one or two of the rooms throughout the summer. For a few days, just for stopping by or for a longer visit to learn about farming first-hand.

As the farm looked like just another in the middle of nowhere: along a dirt road between fields, where two - and on wilder days - three cars passed by, the Dursleys hadn’t expected anyone to rent a room.

They had therefore all been surprised when a family going by the name Malfoy rented two rooms for the first two weeks of summer vacation. This was the time of year when Harry had the most work to do on the farm, since he was just out of school for the term and had all day to work, as Petunia claimed, but this year it would be different. He was to be ‘at service for the new family, ‘ he had been told, and Harry was pretty sure they had added in their advertisment; “ _Scrawny, geeky teenager for you to boss around whenever you like_.”

The Dursleys had been fussing around for the last month, wanting everything to be perfect. As far as Harry had heard, the Malfoys were very rich, and there lied the most of Petunia and Vernon’s interest. The family would - by some odd reason Harry would never understand - pay a great fortune just to stay at some cow-smelling farm for two weeks.

Petunia had also put a lot of weight on the fact that there would come a boy along with Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, and the fact that he was exactly Dudley’s age. Dudley had been excited at first, but after looking up the boy online he had mumbled a few insults containing the words “ _Spoiled city brat_ ,” and was therefore nowhere to be seen as the rest of the family waited, all dressed up, waiting for the other family to arrive.

 _Well, not that it mattered_ , Harry thought _. Dudley had enough friends on the internet and in the city closest to them anyways._

Something went through Harry as they stood there waiting, in a much greater degree than for any of the others. Excitement.

Harry went to the same school as Dudley, the days he didn’t have to be home at the farm and work, and his cousin made sure he didn’t have any friends. His uncle and aunt didn’t allow him the internet password either, so he often went days without talking to anyone at all.

Petunia often had her friends over for her book club and Vernon had business partners coming by occasionally. Dudley’s friends were there too, but he preferred to go to their house. Understandably, Harry thought. There wasn’t a place duller on earth than Dursley Farm.

There had been a time when Harry would fall in love with Petunia’s younger book club members and Dudley’s girlfriends. He used to envy his cousin for his friends, but that was long ago now. He had come to the realization that it was better being alone than being friends with those morons.

Perhaps it was idiotic, but as an old, fashionably-looking car drove off the dusty road and in front of the Main House, he felt a little bolt inside of him.

Maybe the Malfoy boy wanted to be his friend, he thought for the millionth time that week.

It was a long, unlikely shot, but a fourteen year old boy without any friends was allowed to dream, right?

The first person to exit the car after it parked on the graveled patch in front of the Main House was a woman. She had a strict, pale face with high cheekbones and her blonde hair was sat up in a loose knot. She dusted off her midnight-blue dress as she walked over to Vernon and Petunia, though Harry didn’t understand how a dress could get dirty just from being worn in a car.

The lady shared one glance with Petunia, and Harry knew they would be talking nonstop for the next two weeks.

The next person who left the car was a business-looking man who wore a suit even when he was on vacation, and his hair was sat up in a black, princess-like bow that made Harry have to stifle back a fit of giggles.

He spoke to Vernon for a while and Harry could see there was still someone in the car: the boy, but he didn’t follow his parents. Harry wondered why. After a while Mr. Malfoy turned around to bark. “Come along, Draco.” over his shoulder, before returning back to his highly interesting conversation about the stock market in Peru.

 _Draco_ , Harry thought.

When Draco Malfoy left the car he was nothing like Harry had expected. Well, Harry wasn’t really sure what he had expected. He held his breath and let his eyes wander over him. The very first thing he noticed was black, ankle-high, leather boots, with high heels that made him slightly taller than Harry. He wondered a second if they were cowboy boots and if the Malfoy-boy knew how to ride a horse, but a second glance at him told Harry that it was more likely to be a fashion statement.

Draco had blonde hair pushed away from his face, and silver eyes that looked strangely… empty, as he looked around the farm. Harry studied his sharp features, wanting to caress the flawless skin over his strong cheekbones, before realizing how stupid that would have been.

Too late Harry realized that the blonde had said something, because he was studying him with perfectly sculpted, raised eyebrows.

“What?” Harry asked dumbly.

“You have shit on your boots.” the boy repeated in a dull, drawling voice.

“Oh, yeah I guess I do.”

Harry was about to come up with something less idiotic to say or a way to laugh it off, but Draco had already walked past him. Harry couldn’t help but notice the way Draco’s tight jeans hugged his arse when he walked up the stairs and into the house, following his parents and the Dursleys inside.

 

Harry came late to dinner that evening (as usual) since he had had to check up on the animals, get the cows back in the shed and the horses back in the stable. He was met by four sets of cold eyes, and one pair of wondering ones as he entered. He felt himself blush as he sat down next to Draco’s father, still with everyone’s eyes at him.

“Well, it was nice of you to join us, even if it is the middle of our meal.” Mr. Malfoy commented in a tone that Harry didn’t like.

“Harry,” Vernon snapped, as Petunia and Mrs. Malfoy continued their eager talking about something Harry didn’t catch. “Go and get another bottle of wine.”

Well, Harry thought with a small glance at Draco, so much for introduction. He came in late and was yelled at. Great. Wonderful first impression his possibly-first-friend-ever would have of him.

Harry made his way out in the hall, where there were an unusual amount of coats and shoes and gloves all together in a messy pile. Harry sighed; he would have to fix that later. He walked over the cold floor in his bare socks and down the hard wooden stairs to the basement. The basement was an ordinary cellar, with cans of tomatoes, beans and corn up against the walls. There were a few mousetraps between some of them, but Harry knew where they were and was quick to avoid them.

Up against the left wall he found the wine. Harry had no knowledge about wine what-so-ever, so he took one out, thought it looked presentable, and brought it back upstairs. Vernon gave him a cold look when he glanced at the wine, and Harry knew he had made a bad choice. Perhaps it didn’t go with the potatoes and rabbit meat they were eating, or maybe was it too new a wine, that made the Dursleys look cheap in front of their new guests.

Harry found his seat and took a small portion food for himself, looking up at Draco. The other boy seemed incredibly bored and since no-one was talking to him, Harry couldn’t blame him. The potatoes tasted un-washed and Draco just picked at his food, not really eating anything at all. Harry gave him a small, trying smile and received one back.

Harry looked at Draco as the blonde rested his chin on his fist, letting his fork pick around at the too-thick potato slices. Harry could see some dirt fall onto the plate when they moved. Very un-washed indeed.

He moved his foot a little bit and stopped when it came near familiar leather boots. Draco gave him a questioning look, and Harry smirked, kicking Draco’s foot to the side. The city-kid looked at Harry with a bland look on his face, and Harry became worried he might have gone too far with the unsocial new guest. But then Draco broke into a vicious grin and kicked his foot back, which hurt since he was wearing shoes and Harry was not. Highly unfair.

And thus their game began. Stepping on each other’s feet, and kicking around under the table, trying to make it so their families did not notice. At one point Draco’s foot reached Harry’s leg a little too high, but that was at the same time as Vernon declared they were all going to go to another room for a glass of wine, and therefore saved Harry from a rather…uncomfortable situation.

‘Everyone’ apparently meant Draco too, so Harry found himself left alone to clean of the table and wash the dishes (as usual).

 

Later in the evening, Harry walked into the living room with a tray of tea and cake. Dudley had to be at a friend’s place, Harry noted as he peered around the room; his cousin would never have missed cake knowingly.

The big room didn’t look any more crowded than usual, even if there were twice as many people there than he was used to. Uncle Vernon and Mr. Malfoy sat on the corner sofa, next to the bookshelf. The Dursleys had books for the main point of looking smart, even if the thick layer of dust on them sort of blew their scheme. There was a big table next to them with two big glasses of brandy, and they seemed to be discussing business again. From this angle Mr. Malfoy was almost completely concealed by the scarlet-red curtain, which made it look like Vernon had cracked and began talking to inanimate objects - a pretty amusing sight.

Mrs. Malfoy sat on the sofa next to petunia. The taller woman was wearing a different dress than her earlier one, which meant the Malfoy’s had to have found their rooms and unpacked. When the bespectacled boy brought her a cup of tea, she actually nodded, although a bit stiffly, and said thank you. Petunia just let out a small huff.

“Why don’t you go and find Draco and give him his tea?” Mrs. Malfoy suggested after Harry had stood there without doing much for quite long enough. Mostly out of his own interest, rather than being a good host, Harry went to search for Draco.

After he had looked around the Main House for a while, the idea struck him that perhaps the city-kid would be outside, now that he was away from his town.

In the middle of next year’s harvest of grain Draco laid on his back, between all the straws, looking up at the sky above him. He moved around a bit when he heard the loud sound from the door that slammed shut behind Harry, but didn’t turn his head, not even when Harry came to stand right beside his head. At first he wanted to yell at him for destroying some of their living, but he remembered how he had wiped horse-turd on some other part of the field that morning, and shut up.

“I thought there would be stars here, so far from the city…” Draco said quietly, still looking up at the dark clouds mixing with the night-sky. “But instead I’m stuck here watching the barley-ripples.”

“Barley-ripples?” Harry echoed.

“That.” Draco mumbled shyly, and gesticulated in such a helpful way that it took Harry two whole minutes to understand what on earth he was talking about. The city-boy meant the way the barley and wheat around them moved in the wind, the soft tips making waves in the field.  

“Oh.”

“Are you always so eloquent?” the blonde said softly, with a hint of a smile to his voice. He seemed to have loosened up a bit after their foot-war earlier, even if it had only made Harry tenser.

“Erm…” Harry replied smoothly.

Draco made a knowing, humming sound, even if Harry wasn’t sure what he meant by it. His grey eyes roamed over the field a bit longer, the grasshoppers somewhere close being the only sound they heard.

“You have no internet connection.” He said after a while, in a tone that suggested it was clearly Harry’s fault.

He was a bit taken aback by the harsh tone he would never expect to have heard earlier, and it took him a few minutes to explain that the Dursleys wouldn’t give him the password, but that Vernon would surely give it to Draco if he asked. The blonde made an uninterested sound, as if going and actually asking someone was too much of a bother.

They sat in silence for a while, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable silence Harry was used to around people he didn’t know. This was just…quiet, and it puzzled Harry how _right_ it felt. The wind made the straws _swoosh_ and perhaps a kilometer away Harry could hear the waves from the ocean and one or two distant boats.

“So, it’s very…quiet out...?” Draco continued a few minutes later, and it sounded more like a question than not. It struck Harry with a shock that the grey-eyed boy was actually trying to make conversation with him. Harry instantly panicked inwardly. He didn’t know anything about having a friend and making them, and what to talk about and not. When Dudley’s friends came over he was either locked in his room or beaten up by them.

“Yes it is.” Harry said belatedly, at the same time as one of the cows in the shed made a loud sound, which made it seem as if Harry had just _moo_ -ed. He blushed darkly and Draco let out a trying, clinging sound like small bells, insecure; as if he hadn’t laughed for a while.

Harry wondered why.

Then he remembered. “There’s cake for you inside if you want to eat. There’s tea too. Well it’s probably cold now, but I could make you another cup-“ he offered quickly, but Draco interrupted him;

“No thank you, I’m on a diet.” his voice was simple and cold, as if Harry was stupid for not knowing.

“You?” he stared at the blonde. “ _Why?_ ”

“To get skinnier. What else, hay-brain?” Draco replied and gave him a cold look.

The silence that followed was not as comfortable. Harry spent it studying Draco, and wondering why he would want to change the way he looked. Harry could see Draco’s upper body clear under his white shirt. He looked skinny but also with a slight degree of masculinity. He looked toned, as if he did a lot of sit-up’s back home. He guessed he would have strong arm muscles too, under his open, black, denim jacket.

“Why?” he repeated. “You’re beautiful.”

He received a strange look that made him think _shit_. Shit. Friends obviously didn’t say such things to each other, but maybe…Maybe if the reason Draco thought he needed to diet was because he’d never been told he was beautiful before then it would be worth it.

“Not beautiful enough.” Draco sighed, and Harry wanted to ask ‘not beautiful enough for _what?_ ’ but found it better not to say anything.

“So,” Draco asked, changing the subject - something they were both grateful for. “What do you do around here, in the middle of nowhere without any internet?”

“Well, I travel into town a lot.” Harry lied, trying to seem more interesting than he was. He usually wasn’t allowed by the Dursleys to go into town, as they saw no need for him to be there. But maybe if Draco thought he actually had some friends in town, he wouldn’t seem so…desperate. Sawing and harvesting, sitting alone in his room all day, and eavesdropping on his dull family trough secret passages between the walls that only Harry knew about, were hardly things the city-boy would be interested in.

“Anything else?” The blonde seemed uninterested.

“Ehm, I also read a lot.” Harry said humbly. Dudley had bullied him a lot through the years about what a geek he was, using every break to read. Harry’s cousin never seemed to realize Harry had taken some of the show-off books from Vernon and Petunia’s shelf though. He seemed to think they were appearing magically. A bit slow, Dudley was. But what Harry was teased for most was the content the books had, and this fact made him mumble something that wasn’t really words when Draco asked what type of things he liked to read. What Harry didn’t seem to notice was that Draco had sat up on the ground now, and looked at him with great interest.

“I doubt it’s bad. Just tell me.” Draco chuckled softly, sounding a bit impatient. “You’re hardly the type to read Fifty Shades of Grey or anything.”

 

Harry hadn’t heard much about the book, and knew nothing other than it was one of the books aunt Petunia had actually read, and re-read, and that it laid on his aunt’s nightstand every day. He quickly shook his head.

“I like to read children’s classics.” he said, almost on outbreath alone.

“Really?” was the reply that followed instantly, slightly darkened and thin eyebrows raised at him yet again.

“Yes. Oliver Twist, Narnia, Treasure Island…”

“That’s amazing. No-one I know read those. It’s not exactly what’s most popular in the town right now, you know.” Draco said with a small smile, and Harry didn’t know, but nodded either way. “Do you own them?”

“Y-yeah…Some of them.” Harry stuttered, taken aback by how interested Draco suddenly sounded. Harry didn’t know anyone else that read children classics. Not at his school, not anyone in Petunia’s bookclub, not Dudley’s friends or anyone else. But this beautiful boy from the city apparently did. Or would like to, anyway. “They’re up in my room if you want to-“ he began, but Draco was already on his feet, brushing away some dirt from his clothes. He reached out a slender, smooth hand and helped Harry to his feet.

Draco’s skin felt entirely too soft for it to be possible, Harry noted, hazed as the older boy lead him back into the Main House, still holding his hand. Harry liked how Draco’s hand was smaller than his own, and how right it felt to hold it. He felt warm and strangely…right inside, as if this was how it was supposed to be. He wondered if it would be okay for them to entwine their fingers. The feeling lasted all the way to Harry’s room, when he realized he should have cleaned up.

The room was small, and there were clothes and paper all around them. Harry had been so busy before the Malfoys got here with cleaning the rest of the Main House and taking care of the animals that he hadn’t bothered with his own room. When he closed the door to his room that morning he hadn’t actually expected there to be any chance on earth that the attractive Malfoy-boy would want to be there. Now he wanted to hit his past self in the face with a shovel.

There was a small nightstand in the room, and a small single bed against one wall. Most of the space in the room was taken up by a huge closet that gave him the Narnia-feeling every time he looked at it, and a big window at the other side of the room. Draco looked around the room with interest, even if the spare room he had gotten was a lot bigger. Harry sat down and pulled out the box where he kept his books from under the bed, and handed it to Draco.

Harry turned around to lock the door. The Dursleys didn’t know he had books to amuse himself with in his spare time, and they wouldn’t be happy if they were to find that out.

Draco Malfoy’s chuckling made him turn his head, and colour rose to his cheeks at once when he saw what Draco was holding. “That, erm…isn’t...”

“- Yours? - What it looks like?” Draco finished, still with laughter in his voice as he swung the playboy magazine between his thumb and index finger.

 _At least it was one of my magazines with girls_ , Harry thought to himself as Draco began skipping through it and mumbling about how horrid life must be without internet-connection. Harry snatched away the box before Draco could find anything containing men. Harry had never really thought about what gender he preferred, and was sure that he, along with everyone else on earth, was bisexual. He was sure about the fact that he would fall in love with a _person_ , not a _gender_ , and hadn’t seen any reason to hide that. At least not until someone at his school found out and mocked him for it. Harry didn’t understand why that would make him any different from the others, but in the end he had just had to settle with being an outcast and pretending he was ashamed of what he wasn’t.

But he did not want Draco Malfoy to know. Even if things might be different in Draco’s town, and Harry wouldn’t be an outsider there. Even if the eyeliner around Draco’s eyes and the plucked eyebrows meant something more, and if Draco Malfoy, being way, _way_ out of his league, would maybe be… just maybe-

“Can I burrow this?” Said boy’s voice pulled Harry right out of his pathetic train of thought. The blonde had found _The Horse and His boy_ , laying on Harry’s windowsill, as Harry still clutched his book (and porn) box.

“I –“ Harry was about to say he was in the middle of re-reading it, but then again, he could do that any time. “Sure.”

The way Draco’s face lit up made it impossible to hold back a smile. Draco’s eyes were big and shining, and Harry thought perhaps the boy wasn’t used to getting whatever he wanted. Harry knew the feeling.

Draco sat down in the windowsill and began to read without another word. Harry felt warm inside as he watched the blonde, slightly older, beautiful boy from the city sitting in his room, reading a book he had bought for the little money Harry had for himself, and had read at least ten times. The bespectacled boy reached for another book and they both read in silence for a while, losing track of time.

Harry looked up when he realized Draco was watching him. The studying, probing look made Harry blush and writhe slightly uncomfortably in his chair. “What?”

“I want cake after all.”

“Oh,” Harry said dumbly, not expecting Draco’s words. “I thought you were on a-“

“Shut up,” Draco snapped and Harry complied. “And tea too.”

Harry got up after nodding dumbly for a bit. He closed the door behind him when he had left the room and just stood in the hall taking it all in. He tried to calm down, focusing on anything but Draco.

Harry’s doorframe was the same dark oak as always, with a sign with silver handwriting shaped like and owl he had made in textiles class, with the writing; _Harry’s room_. One of the owl’s wings was missing a piece, and for that Harry had drawn bandages over the left part of it. It had been one of Dudley’s friends who had done it, he recalled now, just because Harry had gotten a better grade than them. The spiraling staircase down to the hall downstairs was also the same as usual. Covered in dusty, dark-red carpets that matched the curtains downstairs by some idiotic design idea that Petunia had come with, and given up on, and the painting on the banister was beginning to chip off.

Harry took a few deep breaths as he walked down the steps, counting them as he went. _Twenty-three._ There was a boy in his room that might be his first possible friend, and perhaps even more than that. His steps were shaky. _Seven steps to reach the kitchen – no - eight steps._ And this handsome, older boy from the city wanted cake. _Alright, Harry. Don’t panic._ He found the slice of Petunia’s best lemon-cake on the table where he had left it. Another sign that Dudley wasn’t home. 

Harry almost broke the plate when he lifted it, and he glared at his own trembling hand. _Get a grip_ , he told it strictly. _Oh, right: tea._

He poured out the cold tea from earlier but used the same cup for this one. There wasn’t any point of using an unnecessary amount of cups. Harry was not sure how Draco liked his tea, so he made it the way he liked it himself: milk that he had milked from his favourite cow Hedwig yesterday and two heaped spoonfuls of sugar. He carried the cup cautiously upstairs and when he entered the room Draco didn’t look up from the book he was reading. Well, at least Draco hadn’t just been some figment of Harry’s imagination.

“Here’s your cake and tea,” He chirped and put them down on the nightstand next to his own bed.

“Yours.” Draco corrected in a mumbling voice, telling Harry he was too distracted with the book to have a proper conversation.

“What?” Harry inquired anyway.

“The cake and tea.”

“…what?”

Draco rolled his eyes and finally met Harry’s, but then he looked a little more uncertain again. “I’m on a diet. I don’t want any cake or tea, but then I thought it didn’t look like you were offered any.” There was something in his eyes that made Harry wonder if perhaps it was as important for Draco that they became friends, as it was for Harry. “Just eat it.” He said as the same time as Harry said “Thank you.”

Harry took the first bite of it as Draco turned back to his book, and Harry realized this was the beginning of his first real friendship. This _mattered_. And even if they were just going to sit there quietly and eat and read for the rest of the time Draco was there, that would be alright too, because Harry just wanted to be with him, and have Draco want to be with Harry too.

Harry looked up and met Draco’s eyes, and Harry never thought he could be any happier than right now.

That is, unless they could be anything…more than this.  


	2. The Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is sick and Harry comforts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my amazing beta MissSnakeyBoots.
> 
> I hope you will all enjoy this chapter!

Harry James Potter had never meant to fall in love with with Draco Malfoy.

And yet, somehow, he had.

Even before the Malfoys had got there, Harry had felt a hint of excitement whenever “the boy Dudley’s age,” had been mentioned. He had spent ages trying to find out anything, but had never even heard a name.

The Dursleys mostly used their time discussing the Malfoy’s fortune and what the money they had paid for their stay would buy. The family, more specifically Vernon, had decided to spend the money on a brand new Volvo. Harry had thought their old Volvo worked well enough, but he also knew it was more likely to be sold to some rich family than given to Harry when he learned to drive officially; he knew all the basics.

Harry himself had spent ages picturing what this mystery boy might look like, especially all alone at night in his bed.

Harry had never had a chance for romance. Everyone at his school talked about him badly behind his back because he was gay, even if he wasn’t. Harry’s first crush had been on a girl when he was eleven. He had kissed her, but she had pulled away and wrinkled her nose. Her name was Cho and Harry was pretty sure that little peck didn’t count as his first kiss.

Therefore, he had never had one.

Harry knew Dudley had done far more than that; his room was pretty audible from the hall. Especially the times Dudley didn’t bother closing the door beforehand.

But, Harry had reasoned with himself, Sex wasn’t all he thought about, even with a hormone-filled fourteen year old body; he wanted a date as well. He wanted someone to wake up next to, someone to make breakfast for, and someone to just hang around with and do whatever they wanted together. Someone to just sit on the beach with and…kiss.

Harry was downstairs in the Main House’s kitchen and had to clear his mind. He had woken up before the sun had risen as always, and he was bewildered to find out he didn’t love the silence as much as he normally did.

There was no wind out, and the willows at the other end of the barley and wheat field stood completely still. It was as if the whole world was sleeping, and still Harry was on edge.

His mind and dreams had been filled with blond hair and leather boots and the smell of expensive hair products, so he took out Uncle Vernon’s finest brandy and poured himself a glass. Even if he wasn’t one to drink very often, this was not the first time he had sneaked himself a glass to calm his nerves.

As he took the first sip, something extraordinary happened, something that had never happened before; Dudley walked downstairs before lunch.

He looked at Harry with a groggy expression, a dark-yellow bathrobe knotted too loosely for Harry’s taste around his waist. Harry wondered when in the night he had returned.

“He wants to talk to ya’.” he huffed at Harry.

“I…what?” Harry said, too shocked by the incident to hide the brandy glass. Dudley didn’t seem to notice.

“’eared sounds comin’ from ‘is room. Think ‘e’s ill or somethin’.” Dudley continued when Harry didn’t react. At the stupid look on Harry’s face he added; “The guest. The feminine guy.”

He only walked back upstairs when he was assured that Harry would fix what was bothering Draco so he could continue to spread the joyful sound of snoring throughout the Main House.

Feminine, Harry thought, frowning as he walked back upstairs to Draco’s room, leaving the brandy bottle behind. He hadn’t really thought about Draco as that before.

Draco had been given the room only two doors away from Harry, at the end of the hallway. The whole room was painted various ugly shades of blue that were supposed to fit together. It was the biggest of the usually-vacant rooms and Harry had expected Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy to be assigned that room, but they had chosen a more lovey-gooey, rose-painted room closer to Vernon and Petunia’s. Not that Harry saw any difference. The rooms were mainly for sleeping and both of them had a queen-size bed anyway, and that was enough.

Petunia had urged Harry to make new doorplates with the guests’ names to hang on the doors, but Harry hadn’t bothered. Not that they would not have many guests, nor would they stay long.

Harry’s mind wandered back to Draco, who wouldn’t stay here long at all. He tried to think about something else and found his mind wandering to what he would find behind that baby-blue door. He stopped in front of it, afraid to pull down the doorhandle.

Ill, Dudley had said. Not sick, but ill. He imagined the worst. Draco Malfoy laying on his deathbed, with only a few breaths left.

_Alright_ , Harry reasoned. _He was being ridiculous._

He opened the door and a wave of bad smell hit him in the face, mixed with stuffy, hot air and dust. He squinted his eyes and coughed, fighting the urge to turn around and run. The whole room smelled like garbage.

Not garbage, _sick._

He walked half blind over to the window, trying to fight the urge to throw up himself. The heat alone was bad enough; it made him lazier, like imagining he had already opened the window when he had done nothing with it. Draco’s room faced the sun and had to have been warmed up the day before as well, all curtains open and all windows and the door closed. It was like a greenhouse in here.

In the end he managed to open one of the windows, leaning a bit out of it and taking a few deep breaths, urging himself to go open the other ones as well. There was still not much wind, but he opened them all forcefully enough that it made the door shut behind him.

He blinked a few times and tried to focus. He was standing in something. He looked down. A small puddle of vomit, seeping into his sock.

Marvelous.

He fought back shivers and looked around the room instead, trying to focus again. Neon-blue walls, dust-blue pillowcases and sheets, sky-blue carpets.

_Wait a second…where was Draco?_

He heard the sound of someone throwing up coming from the small bathroom attached to the room. The door to the bathroom was ajar and he walked in, seeing a pale, crouched form sitting over the toilet, throwing up again and clearly sobbing.

When Harry took a good look at the blond, all sexual attraction was temproarly replaced by something else. The need to take care of, _keep safe._

“Knock knock.” Harry said carefully, as the door was already open. Draco didn’t turn around to look at him. Perhaps he couldn’t.

Harry knelt down beside of him, pushing some of Draco’s fringe carefully off his forehead. His hair wasn’t styled when he slept, and it seemed duller, greyer in colour now, his forehead sweaty. Harry wanted to pull him close and comfort him, but he knew that a sick person might vomit again if they were touched. 

Draco turned around to look at him. He looked paler than usual and his eyes seemed dull and heavy. Harry wondered if the blond had slept at all. His thin form was trembling.

“It’ll be okay.” Harry promised weakly, as it looked like nothing other than usual stomach illness.

“I haven’t eaten for four days,” Draco said slowly, not meeting his eyes as he had leaned over the toilet again. He made some gagging sounds but nothing came up this time. Perhaps he had nothing but bile left. “I thought I was doing fine. That I would be…good enough. “ He seemed ashamed and kept his head lowered, even when he didn’t have to.

Harry flushed away some of the sick the next time Draco sat up properly.

“Draco, look at me.” He said sternly after a while, when it was clear the blonde wouldn’t say anything to follow up with what he had just said. “I know I haven’t known you for long, but I can assure you one thing: You are good enough. At least for…me.” He finished quietly.

“Even now? After I’ve thrown up on your floor and…sock?” he raised his eyebrows and spoke with a delicate little laughter, even if it seemed to tire him. It made him throw up again and the sound of vomit hitting the water in the toilet drowned out Harry’s _“Yes.”_

 

“Help me,” Draco croaked. It was about one hour later, and they were lying in the bed in Draco’s room. The dust-blue sheets had a spot towards the end that had been vomit, but Harry had tried to wash it out with water.

Harry had had to carry Draco from the toilet and over there, when he thought Draco had been better. He seemed to have been mistaken as Draco now clutched a bright-red bucket that clashed with the room, holding onto it for dear life as he threw up perhaps the fortieth time that day - and that was just after Harry had come to take care of him. Harry wondered what else he could do for him, other than making him eat, which was completely out of the question right now. Draco would just throw it back up anyway.

Harry didn’t know what else to do so he found himself sitting on the bed beside Draco and holding him, or the bucket when needed - gently.

Harry silently cursed the person to hell that had gotten Draco to start a diet consisting of nothing, by saying that Draco was not good enough.

“ _Help me!_ ” the blonde repeated hoarsely and helplessly after more splatters hit the bottom of the bucket.

“Shh, it’ll be okay. You never have to do this again.”

“But-“ more vomiting sounds. “he said-“

“No. No buts. I’ll help you. This will all be okay. And I am not going anywhere.”

 

It was hours later and the middle of the day. Harry had closed the curtains to get the temperature cooler, opening and closing windows, emptying buckets of vomit and washing the floor and sheets - whatever Draco needed.

Said boy seemed to be cold at the moment, even if Harry was burning up. They were laying on top of the dust-blue sheets and Harry held the blond as he had snuggled closer an hour before, not letting Harry go even if he might be more useful to Draco doing something else.

Harry’s skin was layered with sweat but Draco’s shivering body followed his whenever he moved, though still looking like he was asleep. His full lips were slightly parted and the tip of his nose pressed against the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry couldn’t help but realize how well they fitted together. Arms around each other in a lazy embrace, legs half entwined.

It was like they were supposed to be this way. _Together._

“Harry?” Draco asked in a small voice a few minutes later. Harry wasn’t sure how long he had been awake, but he was glad he had stopped waking up by throwing up. It had made Draco getting some rest impossible for a while; he was too scared to wake up throwing up again.

“Yeah?” Harry whispered back when he remembered to reply. He suddenly felt very self-aware. His arms were holding Draco tightly against himself and perhaps Draco didn’t want that. Didn’t want him touching him, pulling him in, not seeming to let him go. He wondered if he should just push Draco away, but what if he wanted to stay; Harry’s mind was a mess.

“Thank you,”

The reply came late and hoarsely, as if speaking took a great effort for him, but the words were still filled with emotion.

“Anytime,” Harry replied gently, not moving anywhere and soon enough Draco had fallen asleep again in his arms.

 

It was late in the day when Harry woke up, and he realized he had fallen asleep. He sat up a bit to look out the window through the curtains; the sun would be setting soon. He tried to move over further, but he found something holding him back.

He looked down and sat pale arms wrapped around him tightly, not letting him go anywhere. Draco moved in his sleep, a small, happy smile playing across his face. Harry said his name softly, and he opened an eyelid slowly, looking at him lazily like a sleepy kitten.

Harry wanted to cuddle him.

It was terribly warm but there was no way he was moving. He looked over at Draco and caressed his cheek, which made the blond let out a soft, happy sound. Harry had to fight himself before he finally voiced his idea. “We should go out.”

It had been a difficult thing to say, as all he wanted was to lay here, drenched in sweat and hold Draco. But he figured his idea might be better for the blond’s health.

“Go out?” Draco raised his eyebrows. Even if his voice was still weak, it sounded like an interrogation.

“As in, outside. We could go down to the beach. Just to stretch your legs and get some fresh air. It’s maybe a kilometre from here. If you…I don’t know, if it ends badly I can carry you back home. I just thought it might be…a good idea?”

 

It took about fifteen minutes to get Draco to agree to this, and further twenty to get him dressed in something that didn’t smell like vomit. Harry had to fight him for a long time to get him to understand nobody out here would care if he wore sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of something posture-wrecking from the latest fashion designers.

Hell, there wasn’t a single person out here that _would care_ in the first place.

Harry would have lent him some shoes, but Draco had recovered enough to wrinkle his nose and complain about Harry’s horrid taste in shoes, so they had ended up going barefoot.

Harry carried Draco on his back over the barley and wheat until they reached the little gravel road that led down towards the ocean. By then it was apparent that Draco had been inside all day; he was getting rather…hyperactive.

“Harry, Harry, Haaaarry. You listening?” Draco said for the twenty-soemthing’th time since they had left the Main House. “Listen. What’s that? The yellow thing up there? Up in the tree there! It looks like it’s falling, Harry, what is that?” He squirmed on Harry’s back apparently trying to make himself taller.

“The sun?” Harry offered, having enough trouble carrying Draco without having to look at every little thing he pointed out on the way. Also, the gravel under his feet hurt. He wasn’t a hobbit after all.

“Noooo, silly.” Draco chuckled. “Up there. Up in the tree!” He yanked Harry’s head back by his hair and he was forced to look up. It seemed like a sunflower had been blown from a field nearby by the wind and had gotten stuck in the branches of the tree.

“A flower.”

“Can you get it down for me?”  

Harry was about to say something about how ridiculous it would be to climb up there just for a flower that looked like any other; when he turned his head to his side, and was met by Draco’s face leaning over his shoulder, tilted, his lips pursed and his eyes big and begging. “Pleeeeeeeeeeeease?”

 

Long minutes later Harry was carrying Draco again, his feet and hands dirtier than last time and Draco grinning like a child at Christmas, waving his sunflower in front of his face.

“Thank you,” Draco said softly and happily, pecking the corner of his mouth before sitting more up again, shielding his flower from the slight breeze coming from the small beach they were approaching.

Harry felt his skin tingle and he had to bite back a smile that threatened to spread across his face.

 

They sat down on a small wooden bench looking over the ocean. It was quiet and the sunset made the whole sky look like it had a soft glow, a warm glow -like a fireplace in somebody’s home.

Draco had worked some of his buzz off and he was now curled up against Harry to shield himself from the wind. Harry, who had been smart enough to wear a jacket, partly for this purpose, wrapped it around Draco and held him closer. He wasn’t sure what they were, but it was nice.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“ _Thank you_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Ao3 wouldn't let me upload my picture to the fic, here's the link; 
> 
> http://randominoes.tumblr.com/image/56064329043
> 
> (also I don't by any means try to promote my blog. My tumblr is just shitty really. It was just to have someplace to post the picture x)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first serious work so far, so all reviews are appreciated, good or bad.  
> I hope you enjoy the fic so far 
> 
> Also I will write more faster if people are intrested of course. x
> 
> x Willows.


End file.
